


Silence

by Edgeanescence



Category: Grand Theft Auto III, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Study, Gen, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgeanescence/pseuds/Edgeanescence
Summary: Too many fingers,Too many thoughts,Something wicked this way comes.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Silence

Being swamped in silence often leaves one in the muddy waters of their thoughts. 

Claude stared blankly into his bathroom mirror. His reflection scowled back at him, filled with thought. Eyes might have been the windows to the soul, but his mirror image was a glimpse into the past.

* * *

At home, his mother was always drinking, wasting away on the couch with a wine glass in hand. She infrequently deserted the comfort of the house, instead choosing to do nothing beneficial to society. Her sunken-in face often spat insults at Claude's father, who was the only one providing for their family. Sometimes she'd chuck a bottle at him in a drunken stupor, clearly agitated with whatever her husband had done.

Claude always sought to ignore it, hiding in his room and doing homework or sneaking out to go drag racing. But that wasn't possible anymore, not when he had to be the breadwinner now. His father was six feet under from a car accident, abruptly putting the business onto Claude. 

His mother, relaxing pleasantly on the couch, was absentmindedly watching television. The television displayed some action film, filled with loud explosions every twenty seconds. Claude could hear the audio from his bedroom upstairs, trying his best to drown it out with his sheer will.

In his house, though, good things never lasted. 

"Clauuuuuuuuuude!" Came the startlingly shrill cry of his mother's voice. The TV suddenly went dead silent. "You sad sack of shit, get mommy her juice." A loud hiccup interrupted her followed by a dull thud that sounded from downstairs, "She's all fucking out." 

Even when Claude hit his teens, his mother still referred to alcohol as 'juice.' Some things just never changed.

He rose from his bed, passing into the hallway and peering down the stairs to see if he could spot her. Claude moved as fast as lightning, a pathetic attempt at trying to keep his mom from yelling at him. It worked to no avail, however, as just mere seconds later, her voice continued to boom.

"Where the _fuck_ are you, boy? I gave you a god damn order!" Her harsh call escalated to a shout, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering. 

Claude kept his head down as he proceeded downstairs, rushing to the kitchen. He never attempted to acknowledge just where his mother kept the liquor, so his hunt turned into ransacking and pillaging. Claude flung open the cabinets, digging through their contents only to come up empty-handed. 

"Well? Aren't you going to answer me?!" His mother grew remarkably impatient by the second. Her voice seemed even more boisterous then it had been while Claude was upstairs.

Spooked by her sheer volume, Claude stuck his head up before he crawled out of the cupboard, banging his skull against the top of it. A dull throb arrived, followed by Claude tenderly rubbing the affected area. He made a quiet, breathy moan in reply to the pain.

The thud must've been noisy enough to attract his mother's attention because Claude soon found himself face to face with her. She had a vice grip on his shirt as she hauled him across the grimy kitchen tiles. Claude relented, allowing his mother to do so.

"Why is it that your smart ass decides to make a sound when you get hurt, but yet you refuse to speak to your mother?" She spat, sending specks of saliva into Claude's hair.

Claude's dark chocolate eyes looked up at her in fear. His trust for her was virtually non-existent when compared to his father. His father was a total idiot, but at least he didn't have absolute disregard for others like his mother. Even if Claude told her the truth, the old hag would dismiss him regardless. Claude opened his mouth to speak, a weak, raspy voice emanating from his throat. "The surgery-"

"The what?" She interjected. "Why don't you speak up like a normal fucking person?" Her snarl, filled with deep, passionate anger, threatened to eat him alive. His mother's hazel orbs glared daggers into his very being, instilling even more terror. Had she been a gorgon, Claude was sure that her ratty hair would've stuck out on its own accord, hissing at him.

He tried to tell her about the surgery, about the terrible accident that had cost Claude his voice, but the words eluded him. Not even a stammer made it out. Instead, he sat there, struggling to converse.

Patience was not a virtue his mother had.

_Smack_.

She cursed Claude's face with a bright red mark. Her right hand hung in the air, a silent warning. Those animalistic eyes narrowed at him as if she was a predator, and Claude was the prey. "Don't tell me that you can't speak anymore, because I fucking know you can. Hell, you just did it a second ago. You blatantly refuse to obey your own mother, your own flesh and blood. That surgery didn't do shit to you."

Tears began rolling down his features, rivaling the leakiest faucet. His hand timidly raised to brush the stinging area, lips pursed into a quivering frown. His mother continued to tower over him, glowering down at him like a benevolent god.

"You put on this _act_ , trying to make me feel sorry for you over nothing. You whisper out words when you finally do decide to talk. Why? Do you want to annoy me, because you've damn well cracked that code! I know you can speak louder, you've managed to _scream_ before your useless father died." Squinted eyes threw a gaze across the room, locating delicate china and glassware. She furiously grabbed an empty wine bottle from off the counter, arming herself with it. "I'm not going to stop until you bother trying to listen to me." 

Claude held out his arms, attempting to shield himself from any blow his mother had in store. His eyes were screwed shut, silently hoping that it was just a nightmare.

* * *

His fist came into contact with the reflective glass, spewing jagged shards all over the ground. Several flew into his face and arms as Claude staggered backward, holding his bloody fist close to his heart. Pieces of the mirror stuck out in his flesh, the lacerated skin oozing crimson. 

He glanced up from his fist to the medicine cabinet, then back to his hand again. The vision of his mother, standing within the confines of the mirror, had dissipated. No longer was he in the presence of a demon.

Yet here he was, covered in shards of glass just like Satan's henchman had done to him. 

He wasn't going to sit down and take it, though. Claude began tugging at the fragile chunks, ripping it out of his body on his own accord. He clenched his teeth at the pain, but he had felt worse before. The discarded pieces had been unceremoniously flung into the trash can nearby, breaking into smaller parts.

Claude's resolve was still very much that same as that night, all those years ago. He wasn't going to let anyone push him around as his mother did, like how Catalina did. They only got away with so much due to his inexperience at the time. Claude's blissful innocence became eaten away by the termites of time, whittled down to nothing.

His muteness was indicative of that, a hushed rebellion against the institution of expectation. It was harder to insult him if he blatantly refused to speak. Claude mastered the poker face, locking up his emotions in a high-security vault. The quiet gave him a sense of stability and assurance, something Claude lacked growing up. As a result, he came off as more sturdy, like an immovable object.

Claude was also vindictive, unwilling to give in anymore to those seeking to abuse him. For each push and shove, Claude was going to crack their bones. It was something that Catalina had taught him in their nine-year relationship. He absorbed the toxic attitude like the thirstiest sponge, allowing her influence to control his personality. The worst of the tragic puppeteering came to an end once he killed her, but still occasionally wormed its way into Claude's mind. 

Revenge was something he wanted to wreck onto his mother with each passing thought, though he knew that it was in vain. A vicious earthquake rumbled through San Fierro, decimating Doherty in '88. Claude got away from it, having attended a drag race that night in Bone County. His mother wasn't so fortunate. Her limp body was crushed underneath their house hours ago, trapped under the wreckage. She escaped his wrath long before it got realized, and Claude could only hope that she earned her place in Hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to aintgonnaleaveyoumikey for being my wonderful beta reader, this work would've come out much later if it weren't for her.


End file.
